


Odds and Ends

by SilkyinaBottle



Category: H.M.S. Pinafore - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: F/M, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkyinaBottle/pseuds/SilkyinaBottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then tomorrow morn our vows shall be plighted. Three loving pairs on the same day united."</p><p>For every even couple, there is an odd man out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odds and Ends

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyyyy so this is pretty unexpected from me but i've been helping out with a production of this show and the girl who plays deadeye (one of my great friends) has been analyzing every aspect of his character and basically made me see the show in a completely different way. so this is for her.
> 
> this is pretty vaguely based on a simplified version of the show for kids (the version we're performing), which basically makes everything these guys say way easier to understand. so the speech isn't really going to be accurate for the time period, but that makes things easier on all of us.
> 
> and also, i'm just gonna sit here and act like ralph/josephine/dick/sir joseph are all around the same age bc the ages of the characters in this show don't make any sense in the first place (and they probably aren't supposed to; it's a satire, after all)

No one has ever paid attention to you in your life. Of course, you can remember the vague sensation of being held close to your mother's chest, and the occasional loving touch from your father's calloused hand, but that was from a time when you were too small and fragile to stand up on your own. Your life, for as long as you can clearly recall, has been filled with neglect; sparse meals, empty rooms and, "Oh, yes, Richard, that's very nice."

So maybe that's why you're head-over-heels for Ralph Rackstraw as soon as he so much as says your name. No one else can stand to look at you, but Ralph—wonderful, wonderful  _Ralph_ —well. He doesn't like you, exactly, but he puts up with you when no one else will, and that's better than anyone else has ever done.

It's not as if you haven't stood by and admired fair ladies with the rest of your shipmates, but you never quite understood what the _ruckus_ was about. They were lovely—surely anyone could see that—but you didn't hold a flame for any one of them like your fellow sailors may have. There are many things you do not understand about the rest of the crew. You're not alike, no matter how much you may wish you were.

On your first day onboard ship, you are shoved aside, shunned, and generally treated as if you are but a spot of dirt upon the deck. One particularly audacious sailor (he's the boatswain, so you've heard), even yells at you when you asked for assistance putting away a ship net. "I'd much rather lick the grime off the underside of the ship," he hisses, and you can see that his eyes are not trained on yours, but only one of them. You raise a hand up to cover the scar muddying your face, suddenly feeling rather seasick. Everyone wants you gone and you've only been here an hour.

Across the ship deck, you can hear the boatswain sigh heavily, and then he's speaking again, sounding as if he'd rather not, "Ralph!" he calls out, and a few yards away, a slender man looks up from the chest he's digging through. "There is a new...," the boatswain hesitates, as if he doesn't want to accept you as a member of the crew, " _shipmate_ who requires assistance. Only you could be the one to think to offer such a quelling service." You wonder what that's supposed to mean, but you feel as if you already know.

Ralph's eyes (they're blue; noticeable even at a distance) follow the boatswain's pointer finger and eventually land on you. It's been a long time since someone has stared at you so directly, especially with such a piercing stare, and you feel yourself tense. You try to busy yourself by running your hand through your tangled hair, but Ralph is already by your side by the time you manage to pull apart the first knot. He looks at you warily, and you can't help but still under his gaze. After a moment of what appears to be heavy decision, he extends a hand out to you. "My name is Ralph Rackstraw," he greets, and he doesn't hesitate before saying, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Richard Spinetti," you return, staring at the hand held out before you as if it were a dead fish. You've seen others do this before; as a greeting at gatherings or the occasional party that you may have witnessed from the branch of a nearby tree, but you've never been included in such a gesture. It isn't until you catch Ralph's stare again that you reach forward and shake his hand exuberantly. "And I must say, the pleasure is almost certainly mine!"

He gives you a careful smile and only lets his blue eyes linger on your scar for a few seconds. You decide you like him.

* * *

The days pass by with relative ease after that. You may have to put up with the dirty glares your shipmates give you, the way they interrupt you—or worse, insult you—whenever you try to speak, and having to sleep on the hard floor of the cabin most nights, but at least Ralph is around. He's always the one to help you when no one else will; the one to spare you a smile or a glance even if he laughs at you along with everyone else.

You choose to ignore that, more often than not.

But what you absolutely  _cannot_ ignore (and cannot stand for, you decide as you wring the dry rag in your hands) is how Ralph sighs as he stares off the edge of the ship, his sea blue eyes trained on the dock the ship has been anchored next to. "She's beautiful, isn't she, lads?"

Your breath really shouldn't catch in your throat the way it does, but it's too late to stop it now. You feign coughing, hoping it will do something to fend off the odd feeling settling in your chest, but your skin still feels prickly.

"Who?" Bill (you've finally learned what his name is) props his broom up against the railing before peering over it. You've come to find that he's one of Ralph's closest companions, and that fact does indeed make him just a bit more insufferable. "Oh," he says at last, and his voice sounds tiny.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you join a few other sailors at the side of the ship. There, standing on the dock with your respectable Captain, is Josephine Corcoran. You hardly bother disguising your laugh. "Ahhh,  _yes_!" you manage to get out between snickers and guffaws. "She's quite the bit o' jam, ain't she?" Despite your words, it's clear you mean quite the opposite. Josephine is a lovely woman, but her with  _Ralph_? Impossible; any man could see that.

Bill regards you only with a roll of his eyes. "Despite his _glocky_ choice of words, Deadeye has a point, lad." Ah, yes. 'Dick Deadeye'. They've been calling you that lately. You can't tell if it's their attempt at harassing you or if it's a sign of secret fondness. You're not sure which you prefer. "Miss Josephine would never so much as set her lamps upon you," Bill admits, setting a comforting hand upon Ralph's shoulder, which seems to sink in an silent sigh.

You're thankful (but only to yourself) that Ralph has absolutely no chance with the woman of his affections, but that doesn't stop you from adding in the occasional, "Why must you linger on her? There ain't even the slightest of chances." It's really only for Ralph's own good.

* * *

You're actually quite excited when Captain Corcoran announces that Sir Joseph Porter will be arriving onboard ship, although you don't at first know why. You later suppose you wish to impress him; to have him look you over and tell you at once what a fine sailor you are.

On the day of his arrival, you hear the clacking of heeled shoes upon the deck, and you let yourself get quite glad before realizing it's only Little Buttercup. You have nothing against Buttercup; she is a kind and good soul, although she did once smack your hand away when the tips of your fingers got too close to the peppermint drops. But there is something about her that you cannot seem to cast aside. She is filled with inconsistencies: forlorn glances and tightened grips on baskets in hand. Surely, there must be something that lurks _beneath_ that happy exterior...

So when you hear her speak of a 'guilty secret,' you can't help yourself but to barge in. "What secret, me beauty?"

She recoils, and beside her a few other sailors do the same. Among them is Bill, and one of his friends... Bob, you recall. Bob Beckett. "Don't take any heed of him," he says to Buttercup in hushed tones, but you hear him loud and clear, "that's only poor Dick Deadeye." Well, at least this time they're acknowledging the 'poor' part.

"Yes, _Deadeye_ ," you try, hoping perhaps for a bit of sympathy. "It's a _beast_ of a name, ain't it?"

No such luck is to be found. "It's not a nice name," says Buttercup, her rosy face paling slightly.

You try once more. "And I'm  _ugly_ too, ain't I?"

"Well, you're certainly not handsome," she agrees, her gaze remaining on your scar for much longer than is necessary.

"That's it!" you exclaim, hardly caring if you're delving into the dramatics. "I'm ugly. And you all  _hate_ me, don't you!"

"We do!" comes the resounding chorus, and you try to ignore Ralph's voice intermingling with the others.

"Well, Dick," cuts in Bill, and you can't help but grit your teeth at what's surely coming, "you can't expect a chap with such a name as Dick Deadeye to be a popular character, now can you?"

You wish to throttle him; to wrap your hands around his throat and scrape your grimy fingernails against it, reminding him just whoit was to brand him with such a name. Instead, in the presence of a lady, you keep your arms down at your sides. "No, it is human nature," you tell him without looking at his face. "I am resigned." You take this unfortunate opportunity to retreat to a corner; near the far left door to the cabin. This is a favorite spot of yours, and ideal placement for the time being; you are still just close enough to clearly hear any words spoken and even join in on the conversation again, should you wish.

"Who is that unhappy youth?" draws Buttercup, and immediately you know who this remark is in reference to. Ralph sits atop a chest on the opposite end of the deck, solemnly watching the waves roll and the clouds pass by. You regret to say it may indeed be your own fault; a few too many negative comments concerning his precious Josephine. You cannot say you regret any particular comment, but the muddied color of Ralph's eyes certainly isn't a reason for you to be proud of yourself.

You do not pay attention to a sizable chunk of conversation, but Ralph's voice pulls you back to the surface. "Ah, pity, pity me! I love and love, alas, above my station!"

"He loves...," Buttercup repeats breathlessly, "and loves a lass above his station!" You know for a fact that isn't what Ralph said, but you know there isn't any point in correcting her. You simply let her pass by you as she clambers into the lower part of the ship, perhaps pursing your lips in a way that hopefully looks disapproving.

You're quite sure your expression  _becomes_ disapproving when you hear Bill speak. "Poor lad, you've climbed too high. Our worthiest Captain's daughter won't have anything to dow with a chap like you. Will she, lads?"

You simply can't help yourself. "No, no! Captains' daughters don't marry sailors!" The look Ralph gives you is enough to stop you from saying anything more.

Your shipmates disregard you this time, if only because Captain Corcoran has arrived on deck. For once, you actually do feel just a little bit glad.

* * *

You hardly planned to be in this position; you just happened upon the opportunity, and so here you are with your ear pressed up the leftmost cabin door. However, this time you're on the inside looking out ('looking' being used only in metaphorical terms, of course). From the other side of it, you can barely make out the voice of your Captain: "—be here this afternoon to claim your promised hand."

You know what's he's speaking of and to whom. It's unmistakable. The truth behind Sir Joseph's visit had been hidden from the crew for too long, but now...! Ralph would pale at the thought, but you're no less than delighted. You quell your thoughts as Josephine's voice finds its way through the thick wooden door. "Oh father, Sir Joseph is a great and good man, but I cannot love him."

What?

"My heart is already given."

Oh.

"Given? And to whom?"

"He is a humble sailor onboard your own ship."

Oh, _no_.

Fortunately, Captain Corcoran seems to share your sentiments. "A common sailor? Impossible!"

But Josephine's voice remains tearful yet stern. "Yet I love him just the same."

"Josephine," comes the Captain's voice, suddenly sounding his own age, "I attach little value to rank and wealth, but the line must be drawn somewhere." You take a moment to lean with your back against the door. Could it be true? There are plenty of sailors onboard this ship, but only one with the audacity to approach a gallant Captain's daughter. Surely, if it were to be any man...

Footsteps approach the cabin. You take off at once, leaving not a trance behind you.

* * *

You spend the first half hour of Sir Joseph's visit attending to his sisters, cousins, and aunts, more out of obligation than anything else. They dare not give you the time of day, and for a moment you wonder who would.

But at last you spy Captain Corcoran emerging from the gangway. The crowd is silenced at last, and the Captain clears his throat before speaking with passion. "Now give three cheers for the right honorable Sir Joseph Porter!"

The aforementioned cheers are nearly loud enough to rock the ship as Sir Joseph steps onboard. You're surprised you hear a word he says over the ocean roaring in your ears, but you actually do listen intently to his rather long-winded speech (and by the looks of it, so does everyone else onboard). You even lean forward and catch a whiff of his hair (his milk chocolate hair that hangs in loose ringlets, held in a ponytail just past his shoulder bones) as he passes by you. He smells like soap and the peppermint drops you never got to eat.

Once he finally shuts his mouth, he takes out a monocle from his coat pocket and takes a moment to stare each and every sailor down. You give him your best smile, but you get the feeling it does more harm than good. Still, Sir Joseph finishes with, "You've a remarkably fine crew, Captain Corcoran."

"It _is_ a fine crew, Sir Joseph," replies the Captain, sounding absolutely giddy at the attention.

"Desire that splendid seaman to the front," he says with a wave of his hand, and you haven't the slightest clue why you assume it's  _you_ that he's referring to, but your feet are moving on your own, you're stepping forward—

Sir Joseph's features contort into a grimace. "No, no. The  _other_ splendid seaman."

As you step back, you celebrate that he at least called you splendid, in the strangest of ways. At least you do until you realize just who the 'other' splendid seaman is. "Ralph Rackstraw, three paces to the front!" the Captain bellows, but Ralph stays put. You look towards him—carefully, in case someone is watching—and see that he's practically frozen in place.

Fortunately for him, Sir Joseph's eyes are trained on Captain Corcoran. "If _what_?"

At this, the Captain falters. "I beg your pardon—I do not understand you." The way he says it is almost humorous in its confusion.

Sir Joseph scoffs, as if this is  _common knowledge_. "If you  _please_."

The Captain's eyes light up with feigned recognition. "Ah, yes, of course!" He turns back to Ralph and says in his loudest and clearest voice, "If you please!" At this, Ralph finally steps forward, but his stance is stiffer than usual. As soon as he is before Sir Joseph, he salutes, stamping his foot down as he does so. Captain Corcoran stands to the side and watches, a proud smile painted upon his face. And Sir Joseph—well, you can't see his expression from here, but he must be impressed. Truly, who wouldn't be? Ralph is the finest sailor there ever was.

You feel stab of envy in your gut, but what surprises you is who it's aimed towards— _Ralph_. You watch as Ralph turns around at Sir Joseph's command, wishing he were you. Once he's facing Sir Joseph again, he salutes once more, to which Sir Joseph says, "You are a remarkably fine fellow."

Your stomach turns. "Yes, your honor," Ralph replies, his voice surprisingly level. If you were up there, you would be shaking and stuttering all the while. Maybe, you consider, that's precisely why you're not.

(Or maybe it's because of the surely hideous scarring across your left eye, but you pretend that has nothing to do with it.)

Sir Joseph spends a little longer questioning Ralph; can he sing, can he dance a hornpipe (and while your singing voice may scare birds away, you  _can_ dance a hornpipe, so you have won, at least in your own mind). No sooner than when Ralph joins the other sailors does he turn to the Captain. "Now, Captain Corcoran, a word with you in your cabin, on a tender and delicate subject." You've hardly any time to wonder what this might mean, because soon enough the deck has been cleared out, leaving only you and your fellow crew.

"Sir Joseph is a true gentlemen," chirps Bill, and for once you agree with him, although you'll never dare to say it aloud, "courteous and considerate to the very humblest."

"We are not the very humblest," says Ralph suddenly, and you can only stare, because what is this man thinking? "Sir Joseph has explained our true position to us. He says that a British sailor is any man's equal—excepting his." Oh. You must not have been listening during that part. "Messmates, my mind's made up," he announces, and there's something icy in your stomach, traveling all the way up your throat, preventing you from speaking. There's only  _one_ subject Ralph is ever so determined about. "Although I lack birth," he starts, his ice water eyes sparkling, only to be interrupted by Beckett (for which you are grateful).

"You have a berth onboard ship." No, no, that won't do, that won't  _stop_ him...!

"I shall speak to the Captain's daughter," oh _no_ , "and tell her of the honest love I have for her."

Your fellow shipmates are much too eager to cheer him on, and when they head for the cabin, you know you're obligated to follow. If a man like  _you_ were left with the smartest lad in the fleet... who knows what the rest of the crew would do to you.

* * *

"Messmates, ahoy!" you hear nearly an hour later, and you try not to get your hopes up. You're the first one with your feet on deck, and however cruel it may be, you nearly cheer when you see the forlorn look on Ralph's face. "She rejected me."

"Oho, I told you so!" you cry out, laughing to yourself in a fit of unbridled joy. You can see the spurn in the faces of your fellow sailors, but that hardly matters when Ralph surely saw the spurn in the face of Josephine.

But Ralph's voice finds your ears once more. "My heart is breaking... I can live no longer." The icy feeling in your gut suddenly spreads throughout your entire body, and you're frozen in place. For a moment, you wonder if this is how Ralph felt when Sir Joseph called him forward, but there's no time to think about that when Ralph is turning towards Bill and  _asking for his pistol_.

"Always ready to help a fellow sailor," Bill tells Ralph as he places the gun in his hands, and you've never hated the man more. You try to reach out, try to say something— _anything_ —to stop him, but your feet will not move, your voice will not leave the confines of your throat.

The barrel of the gun is against the side of Ralph's skull now, his pale eyelids closed over his (surely wavering) blue eyes, and while the other sailors move to cover their ears, your hands will not obey. "When I am gone, tell the maid I loved her well!"

You will yourself to speak, to let loose the very secret that was haunted you for many a year—

"Stop, I love you!" You're surprised to hear the words, and even more surprised when they do not come from you. Josephine came aboard deck without your noticing, and while you know what this means for you, you can't bring yourself to feel anything but relief.

But Ralph is still standing there with his finger against the trigger, and that sight is enough to have words finally leaping from your throat. "Stop, she loves you!" you scream, so loud you may get hoarse, and you're not the only one. All around you, shipmates are shouting: "Ralph, put down the pistol!" "Josephine is here!" "She loves you, she loves you!"

"Loves me?" Ralph says at last, lowering the gun to his side.

"Loves you!" repeats Josephine, pushing through the crowd of overjoyed sailors to meet him.

In one swift motion, Ralph hands Bill his gun and takes Josephine into his arms. Your feelings finally catch up with you, and suddenly you feel ill for contributing to this courtship, even if it were out of necessity.

But... there is a way to  _end_ this courtship. You make your escape into the cabin, but not before you hear talk of elopement fill the salty sea air. 

* * *

You stay in your cabin until nightfall, pacing back and forth until you're quite sure you've left an indent in the wood. Your cabinmates never return. They must have found a more secretive place to discuss their plans. But it's much too late now. The easiest way to escape is down the gangway and onto the docks; the same way Sir Joseph arrived is how they will leave. That is where you will stake your post.

It's no later than midnight when you emerge from the cabin. You pass no one on your way out; where ever your shipmates are hiding, it must be a swell spot. When you step foot onto the deck, you're delighted to see your Captain, looking surprisingly please despite the circumstances. "Finally, my fondest hopes are crowned!" he cries, supposedly to no one other than himself. "My only daughter is to be the wife of a cabinet minister!" So Miss Josephine  _lied_ to one of so high of rank as Sir Joseph? A dirty puzzle she is.

You look back to your kind Captain's beaming face, and only regret what you're about to do for a moment. "Captain!"

"Deadeye," says your Captain with surprise, and you wince at the nickname more than ever, "what are you doing here?"

"I've come to give you warning. This very night Miss Josephine plans to elope with Ralph Rackstraw!"

Captain Corcoran listens intently after that, and you find yourself playing things up  _just_ a little as you explain the situation to him. He's shocked at first (rather understandably, you think), but with a bit of a push he's seething. Your lips twitch, and you have to force yourself not to grin. This is exactly what you need. You see his eyes flit towards the cat-o'-nine-tails he keeps by the wheel and immediately you're scrambling to grab it, to get it in your hands, to give it to him, to make this disaster worse than it already is...

Your hands wrap around it, and it's horrible, but you feel a sick thrill at knowing Ralph is in dire trouble. You turn and rush back to your Captain, dropping the whip into his hand and admiring the sadistic flare that lights in his eyes. "Dick Deadeye, I thank you for your timely warning," and you don't hear anything else, because suddenly every star in the sky has turned to smile at you and the moon radiates with its magnificent light. It falls upon you, and you bask in it. The Captain is hiding himself behind the wheel and surely Ralph will be tortured for this but  _you don't care_.

You couldn't care if you tried. For a moment you wonder if you ever even cared about Ralph at all.

* * *

You wait three hours, and even though you haven't slept in forty-five hours (you couldn't sleep last night, knowing Sir Joseph would be onboard), you're wide awake. You're in your usual spot by the leftmost door to the cabin when you see Buttercup timidly make her way onto the deck. She's followed by Bill, then Ralph, Josephine, and lastly Beckett. Perhaps they thought it better to bring a small party. A smirk plays on your face. This only makes your job easier.

No sooner than when Beckett sets his feet upon the deck does a loud crash come from the wheel of the ship. You nearly laugh watching them jump. Frantic, hurried whispers of, "Goodness me!" and "Why, what was that?" escape their mouths, and you grin.

"Silent be," you tell them in your loudest whisper, "it was the cat!" You had been saving that one.

There is a collective sigh of relief. "It was the cat!" Josephine cheers in a soft and airy voice.

"They're right," starts Captain Corcoran, and you're once again amused by the body language of the group before you, "it was the cat." Josephine's posture in particular is quite charming; shoulders up near her ears, ankles shaking... What a sorry state for a sorry girl. "Josephine, I insist on knowing where you going, for," he turns to Bill and Beckett, who are all but clinging to each other's shirts in fear, "although my crew are excellent fellows," and now he has turned back to Josephine, who is as still as the night, "they are scarcely fit company for a lady like you."

"Proud Captain," you can tell by the way Ralph's voice cracks that he's forcing himself to speak aloud, "I know I am only a humble sailor, but I am a true born Englishman." You almost groan at this, because wasn't he the one who had insisted that they all were _not_ the very humblest?

"He  _is_ an Englishman!" Bill cries, and you nearly empty your stomach then and there. This goes on for quite some time—Bill reiterating with unbridled enthusiasm Ralph's national pride, and Ralph joining in as often as he can manage—and you don't think you've ever desired to hear Bill speak for so long. He's windy-wallets, that one; and Ralph is a totty one-lung for going along with it.

(And maybe, you will think later, that was the last offense, and afterwords Ralph could never charm you with his smile, his slender frame, or those lying blue eyes. Or maybe there was no offense at all, and perhaps you hadn't truly been drawn in at all.)

You don't listen to most of it, but you do notice when Sir Joseph arrives onboard, followed by his sisters, cousins, and aunts. His hair is tangled and matted and his dress shirt is wrinkled. The noise must have woken him up and for some odd reason that makes you even crosser with Bill and Ralph. Sir Joseph, while clearly confused, follows along with the conversation in complete ignorance. The poor, helpless fool.

At long last Captain Corcoran steps forward, and you feel anxious and excited all at once. "Far be it from me to disparage any British sailor," he snarls, his voice still low, "but  _damn,_ it is too bad!"

Captain Corcoran must have woken up half of the ship with that. At once, everyone gasps, and then someone (probably one of Sir Joseph's cousins), cries, "Oh, the monster! He _swore_!"

"My... my pain," Sir Joseph starts, and you're sort of delighted at how _scandalized_ he sounds, "is not easy to convey." The Captain is before him in an instant, looking more like a hurt pup than the fearless commander you know him as. "My amazement, my  _surprise_..."

Your Captain sputters, clutching the familiar cat-o'-nine-tails tightly in his hands. You don't think it particularly benefits him. "My lord! One word—the facts—hear me!"

"I will hear  _nothing,_ " bellows Sir Joseph, and the ship falls silent all the once. Even the ocean seems to calm at the sound of his voice. "Go stand in the corner," he demands, his words sharp and scathing. "You are a disgrace." Your Captain obeys without aggression, and at his departure from the conversation Sir Joseph steps forward. "I shall teach you all to refrain from harsh language, for I haven't any sympathy for ill-bred taunts!"

"No more have his sisters, nor his cousins, nor his aunts!" you hear, and truly, you wish they would stop with that.

When you're finished glowering at Sir Joseph's extended female family, you realize he has placed himself next to Ralph. "Now, tell me, my fine fellow," Sir Joseph begins, and you feel another stab of envy at the fondness in Sir Joseph's tone, "how did your Captain come to forget himself? I'm sure you haven't given him any cause for annoyance."

Ralph looks artificial, his posture is so stiff. "Your honor, I'm only a deckhand—"

"Don't be ashamed of that," Sir Joseph cuts in. The look he gives Ralph is trusting, and you can hear the oncoming storm ringing in your eardrums.

Perhaps Ralph can as well, for he hesitates before he speaks. "Love comes to every one of us. Josephine—"

It's as if three moments take place all at once: Sir Joseph puts his hand over his heart and smiles to himself, as if he is marveling the absolute  _wonder_ that is Josephine Corcoran; Ralph stares at his shoes, tightens his fists, and opens his mouth to speak; and Josephine cries, "Darling!" and throws _herself_ into Ralph's arms.

You have never, in your life, been so dumbfounded yet impressed by any display of idiocy. Sir Joseph nearly faints; he surely would have hit the deck had dear Buttercup not rushed to prop him up. "Insolent... sailor!" he screams, and you've hardly seen someone so angry. "You shall repent of this! Seize him!"

You know not what comes over you, but within seconds you're holding Ralph's arms firmly behind his back. He struggles, like any hopeful man would, but you keep your grip on him firm. Guilt stings your skin, but you only need to think of the torment he's caused for many years.

_Think of the look on his face whenever he realized he had no choice but to cooperate with you._

_Think of every word he's spoken of Josephine._

_Think of his voice as he announced that he hated you._

_Think of his confidence and his_ audacity  _in loving one so far above his own station._

_Think of his joy as he first took Josephine into his arms._

_Think of the way he's ignored you, cast you aside, insulted you, and shunned you just as everyone else has._

You grasp at Ralph's skin so hard it turns red. You can hear Josephine screaming, but she sounds so far away. More clear is Sir Joseph's voice, asking: "Have you a dungeon on board?"

"We have!" you shout, and you're surprised at how glad you sound.

Sir Joseph's expression hardens, but there's something in his eyes that makes you feel as if you are, at least in this moment, the same. "Then load this man with chains and take him there at once!"

You pull as hard as you can and, much to your surprise, Ralph does not resist. All around you there is shouting, pleading, screaming...

And finally, drowning out all, "Wait!" Your grip slackens, and all turn their attention to Buttercup, whose rosy face is flushed in desperation. "The time has come for me to confess a crime that has been concealed for far too long."

In your broken haze, you do not catch everything that she says, but the gist of it is this: Ralph Rackstraw (the smartest lad in all the fleet) and Captain Corcoran (the hardy Captain of the Pinafore) have been switched since birth. "Am I to understand," breaths Sir Joseph as soon as she has finished, "that Ralph is really the Captain, and the Captain is really Ralph?"

"Aye, your honor."

At this, Sir Joseph pales. "Oh, dear me! Rackstraw, Corcoran, to the front! March."

There is a prolonged pause, and then, meekly, "If what, your lordship?"

Sir Joseph catches himself almost immediately. "Ah, yes. If you please!" Ralph and your Captain (or perhaps you should only refer to him as "Corcoran") step forward at once. Sir Joseph lifts both arms, takes hold of their hats, and places each on the opposite head. Pleased with his work, he shakes hands with both men before him. "I congratulate you both."

"Your lordship, thank you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Seaman Corcoran," Sir Joseph confides, gingerly taking hold of Corcoran's arm, "I need not tell you that, after this change in your condition, my marriage with your daughter is out of the question."

But Corcoran still looks hopeful. "Don't say that, your honor!" He tells him, and the light reflecting off of his eyes is enough to blind another man. "Love levels  _all_ ranks!"

Sir Joseph pulls a face. "Not quite as much as _that_." Quickly, as if he doesn't want to, he escorts Josephine to Ralph. "Here, take her. She's yours."

Josephine leaps into Ralph's arms just as exuberantly as she had ten minutes before, and Ralph returns the gesture wholeheartedly. "Oh, bliss! Oh, rapture!" they cheer, and somehow it's a calming sound.

"Oh, rapture! Oh, bliss!" you hear two others echo, and you're surprised to see Buttercup in Corcoran's arms. You were unaware of this.

Caught in between the two pairs, Sir Joseph looks at a loss for thought. "Well, what am I to do? I cannot live alone."

The inside of your throat itches something mighty, but you know not why.

One fair lady—the same cousin who shouted when Corcoran swore—all but  _races_ across the deck. "Fear not, Cousin Joseph!" she clamors, wrapping her arms around him. "I'll never desert you, for as long as I live!"

Sir Joseph looks less than pleased at this turn of events. You watch the way his lips curl, the way his eyes narrow, the angle of his shoulders as they rise—"Oh, don't do that."

"But I'd rather!" she gushes, louder than she should be (she is, indeed, inches away from the Admiral's ear). She leans forward, planting her lips upon her cousin's cheek, and something in his expression changes. He smiles.

"Well, then tomorrow morn, our vows shall be plighted. Three loving pairs on the same day united."

And as you watch Ralph and Josephine cheer, hand-in-hand, you don't feel glad, but you do feel hopeful. You suppose that's plenty good enough.


End file.
